


Make It Through This Winter

by DetectiveJoan



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: 24 Zero Hour, Female Friendship, Gen, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveJoan/pseuds/DetectiveJoan
Summary: She's managed to get in over her head deep enough to inadvertently facilitate her own brother's kidnapping twice now. It might have been absurd if it wasn't so abruptly devastating instead.(Coda to season 2/episode 24)





	Make It Through This Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ["Winter" by The Dodos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_SmNZ2vjGk)

After Sam disappears it hits Joan like a physical blow, the realization that Mark’s gone again and it’s all her fault _again._ It knocks her straight off her feet and she doesn’t even land on either of the two motel beds she’s standing between. Instead, she sinks to the floor, lands heavily on her knees. There’s a pressure building in her chest like she's about to explode, like her ribs are going to rip themselves apart and splatter blood all over the room.

She presses her hands over her mouth and screams as loudly as she can. There's no one around to hear her. Or help her. Or help _Mark_.

No blood comes out but she can taste it in the back of her mouth.

She screams again, then again. Her throat burns with it.

Someone shoves a pillow into her hands -- Sam must be back from her trip -- and Joan buries her entire face in it. She’s doubled over, hunched until the pillow is the only thing between her forehead and her knees. She screams again, and this time it ends as a sob.

The tears come then, fast and heavy. Joan cries until she can’t breath, and then she gasps against the pillow. She’s distantly aware of Sam kneeling beside her, lightly rubbing a hand across her back.

She runs out of tears, eventually -- which was inevitable, of course. If she’s completely honest with herself, the surprising thing is that she even had any tears left to cry after five years of this. The pressure in her chest has abated somewhat, but now her eyes are itchy and her legs hurt from her awkward position. She can feel her heartbeat in her temples, a sure sign of an oncoming headache.

There’s no anger left, no despair. Just a huge hollowness in her chest and a glimmer of self-hatred.

She didn’t even get to see Mark before she lost him again. Not that she deserved to, frankly. Not that she deserves to ever see him again after all the ways she’s facilitated fucking his life up.

Sam passes her a handful of tissues, and Joan rubs at her face until she feels presentable enough to sit upright.

Sam’s hand moves with her, coming to rest hesitantly on her shoulder. “Is...is this okay?” she asks, voice small.

“It’s fine, Sam,” Joan says. It’s an exchange they’ve had a dozen times in the last few months, but the familiarity of it feels out of place now.

She can’t bring herself to look at Sam.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Joan says to the wall. It’s her go-to solution for bad days, and today is the worst she’s had in a long while.

“Oh, okay then, I’ll just, um, I’m gonna go pick up some food, I think,” Sam replies. Her fingers are moving idly back and forth along Joan’s shoulder and it feels...weirdly comforting. Out of habit, Joan tries to string together an explanation -- something about how humans derive calmness from physical contact -- but her thoughts feel sluggish and she can’t quite put the words together. Not that it matters.

“How are you handling this so much better than I am?” she asks.

Sam shifts beside her, but her fingers don’t stop moving. Joan has to restrain herself from leaning into the touch. “Well, I went and had a freak-out in the past,” Sam says. “I spent a couple hours crying in a blizzard. I was way more of a mess than you are, trust me, and it took me a lot longer that you’ve had to put myself back together.”

Joan closes her eyes; they’re starting to burn now that they’ve dried out. “Mark’s gone,” she says.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees quietly.

“Again.”

Sam hums in response.

“It’s my fault,” Joan says. The truth of it burns in her throat.

There’s a moment of silence, and the movement of Sam’s fingers falters before she speaks. “Partly,” she says.

Joan starts to shake her head, but Sam presses on. “When I...the accident that killed my parents? That was my fault. You’ve tried really hard to convince me that it wasn’t, and you’re partly right. I didn’t do it on purpose, and the situation was mostly out of my control. It _was_ an accident, but it also happened because of something that I did. I think it got a lot easier to deal with it after I figured out that it could be both of those things at the same time.”

“I hardly think this situation is the same.” Joan’s voice is dull.

“Maybe not exactly,” Sam admits, “but I think the same thing is true. Mark’s gone again, partly because of things that you did, and partly because of things that I did, and partly because of things that Damien did. You’re at some fault, but so am I. Neither of us gets all of the blame.”

Joan finally opens her eyes and looks over at Sam; she looks so calm and well-composed. “Where did you get such a balanced worldview?” It’s said too wearily to sound like a question.

“Mostly from you, believe it or not.” Sam gives her a small smile.

“I should have told you,” Joan says, “about my name. About everything.”

“And I should have told Mark I was working with you. We’re both idiots with too many secrets,” Sam agrees. “But you should go shower now. You’ll feel better. And then we can self-flagellate over dinner.”

**

When Joan finally drags herself out of the shower, into pajamas, and out of the bathroom, she finds Sam sitting on the far bed. There's an open pizza box beside the TV. Sam pauses her channel surfing to look at Joan abashedly.

“Is pizza okay? I know it’s not, y’know, _great_ , but I couldn’t find any other take-out places around the motel. There’s probably not much this far out of the city, and I don’t drive anyways, but we’ve never eaten together before, so I don’t really know what you like, and --”

“Pizza’s fine, Sam.” There’s an entire empty bed between them, but Joan crosses the room to sit down next to her. “Thank you.”

She eats a slice and doesn’t taste a bite of it. Sam passes her a plastic cup full of tap water and it’s the same.

The television lands on a re-run of some old crime drama. Joan can’t focus enough to identify it, but the background noise is nice.

There’s still such a tightness around her heart, and she shifts until she’s lying down, curled up with a pillow tucked against her chest again. A moment later, she feels Sam’s hand tentatively brush a wet strand of hair out of her face. Sam repeats the motion, starts combing her fingers through Joan’s hair. If Joan had room left for any emotions tonight, she’d probably be surprised at how tactile Sam is being. Instead, all she registers is how nice the movement feels.

“I thought I was supposed to help you feel better,” she says.

She can feel Sam’s weight shift on the bed, and Joan doesn’t look up but she thinks the younger women might have shrugged. “Maybe when you were my therapist. But we’re kind of more like friends now, right?” She says it like a guess.

“I suppose so, yes,” Joan replies.

“Okay, well, I don’t have a ton of experience, but I think that friends take turns helping each other feel better. And I -- well, no offense, but I kind of get the sense that it's been a long time since you had someone around to take care of you. Maybe it's your turn.”

Despite everything, there are tears pricking at the corners of Joan’s eyes again. “I -- thanks, Sam,” she says around a sudden thickness in her throat. "That means a lot." 

Sam gives her another tissue and a sad smile. “You can cry again if you need to. No judgement.”

Joan allows herself exactly one slow tear before she takes a deep breath and pulls herself back into a sitting position. She takes Sam’s hand in her own. “Today has been...awful,” she says. She should’ve used a stronger word but Sam just nods tiredly. “But I want you to know I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Even before Damien...” she trails off and has to catch her breath before she can continue.

“You brought Mark back to the present. Before I met you, that alone was almost more than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

She’s crying again in earnest now. Sam squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“We found him once,” Sam says. “We can do it again.”

Joan shakes her head minutely. “No, I know, I just...I’m just trying to say that I’m really glad I met you.”

Sam shifts, brings a hand up to Joan’s face and brushes her thumb across the tear track on her cheek.

Joan lets herself be pulled forward and down until Sam is reclining against the pillows and Joan’s head in resting on her chest. She can hear Sam’s heartbeat, slow and steady, against her ear.

“I’m glad I met you too, Joan,” Sam says softly. 

**Author's Note:**

> /drags hands down my face/  
> women taking care of each other  
> ladies forming close personal friendships  
>  _gals being pals_


End file.
